


Or Something

by Squintern



Category: Glee
Genre: Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Not Blaine Friendly, Not Blaine or Klaine Friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6183889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squintern/pseuds/Squintern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Smythe, determined to graduate to editor-in-chief of the New York Times, has just been promoted from the editor of the business section to editor or the New York Times Magazine. When a co-worker mistakenly sends him an email meant for someone else, he stumbles across a name that hasn't crossed his mind in ten years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Or Something

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly canon up until somewhere during season 5. Nothing in season 6 (I didn't watch season 6). Fuck season 6.
> 
> Also! Alsoalsoalso, I mean absolutely no disrespect or offense to anyone who has been through something like this. I don't know very much about triggers or panic attacks so I'm really, really sorry if this is all wrong. I also know nothing about stocks, Wall St, or business so please don't penalize me.

“Hey, Smythe, congrats, man,” Blake’s voice blew through my open office door. I swiveled around in my brand new, extra comfy chair and grinned.

“Feels good having my own office,” I bragged. He laughed.

“Shut up, douche. I get to go home Fridays without work on the weekends,” he replied. I shrugged.

“I like my work.” He snorted and left it at that.

I turned my desk chair slowly around, appraising the office again; _my_ office. I smiled and let my head fall back and kept twirling. Editor of the New York Times Magazine. Sebastian Smythe, editor, New York Times Magazine. My business cards were going to look boss. Only 29-years-old; started out as a lowly columnist, then became a real journalist for the Business section, then editor of the Business section, and finally, editor if the New York Times Magazine. Damn, was I good.

“Well, well, the new HBIC.” I turned again to look at my open door.

“Call me ‘HBIC’ again, I’ll take away the toys,” I threatened, smiling easily at my fiancé.

“Congratulations, Seb,” he said, coming further into the office. “Power looks good on you.” I winked.

“You certainly would know,” I purred. He chuckled.

“This is your work place, Sebastian, shame. Keep it clean,” he reprimanded me jokingly.

“Speaking of work place, Smythe, don’t you have work to do? Your promotion party was two days ago, it’s time to get to work,” Mr. Johns called as he passed. I sighed.

“I’ll see you tonight, babe.” Tripp nodded and waved as he left, winking through my glass walls. I turned back to the emails I had been checking before getting distracted by my big beautiful office once more.

 

 **To:** Smythe, Sebastian  
**From:** Trace, Brandon  
**Cc:** Carapace, Jon  
**Subject:** Business front page article  
**Attachments:** SunBus_3-26-2024

 

Rough draft of the article you wanted for Sunday Business section. I’ll be at my desk until 6.

 

Brandon Trace  
_Journalist, New York Times_  
_Business Section_  
_(212)556-2300x2359_

  **Download attachment**

 

I chuckled to myself. Brandon probably still had my email programmed in for his editor. I hit reply to let him know the article went to the wrong place at the exact moment Brandon sent another to me.

 

 **To:** Smythe, Sebastian  
**From:** Trace, Brandon  
**Subject:** Mistake

 

Hey, sorry, man! Forgot you got promoted (asshole). See you at lunch. I’ll send that article to the _real_ editor now.

 

Brandon Trace  
_Journalist, New York Times_  
_Business Section_  
_(212)556-2300x2359_

**To:** Trace, Brandon  
**From:** Smythe, Sebastian  
**Subject:** Re: Mistake

 

Whatever, Brandon. I bet you’ll send me a least six more drafts before you finally remember.

 

Sebastian Smythe  
_Editor, New York Times_  
_New York Times Magazine_  
_(212)556-2300x2388_

 

Still curious, I hit the download button on the first email. I did actually like the business articles and Brandon was always a good writer. He wrote the front page article every Sunday for a reason. He made business fun. And, he’d been confident enough in the rough draft to send it to the editor-in-chief. The article must be very good.

 

_“Oh, damn.”_

_The young man across from me dabs at the new coffee stain seeping into his pale blue shirt. He glances up and smiles wryly at me. “Second shirt I’ve ruined this week. It’s been hectic around here.” Giving up, he sighs lightly and throws the tissues into a pail._

_If this week alone has been hectic, it’s difficult to imagine what Kurt Hummel considers normal. Yes, running a modelling agency virtually single-handedly is no walk in the park, but doing it at only 30-years-old is simply unimaginable. And if you add to that the fact that he built this company from nothing at the age of 24, well, hectic takes on a whole new meaning. It also may explain why it’s taken us so long to get to the elusive founder, owner, and sole employer of Hummel Agents Cooperative._

I nearly fell out of my chair.

_Not to say Kurt Hummel is a recluse, of course. Aside from his success in representing both models and designers alike, Hummel is quickly carving out a name for himself in philanthropy. Most recently, he parted with half a million dollars to help ensure that arts programs would be funded in many public schools throughout the city. And that was just last month. It seems that Mr. Hummel has far more money than he knows what to do with. He remains an active donor to PFLAG, It Gets Better, The Trevor Project, and the Born This Way Foundation – to name a few. And let’s not get into the science, music, and environmental projects he’s made donations to as well._

_“It is a little odd having all this money,” he admits bashfully, toying with a somewhat out-of-place bobble-head mechanic on his pristine desk.  “We were comfortable when I was growing up, but never really rolling in dough.” He smiles shyly._

_“But then again, people are just richer in general here in Manhattan.”_

_True, living in Manhattan is not cheap, but rich is a relative term. His father owning one of only two mechanic shops in Lime, Ohio may have put Hummel in the category of rich when he was growing up (to which he shook his head modestly – “Not rich. Never rich. Just comfortable.”). His father became, as well, a well-loved senator in that state. And still, Hummel claims that even by small-town Ohio standards they were not rich. Now, though, his Upper East Side apartment (and the house in the Hamptons and chateau in Marseilles) speaks for itself. It pays to build your own company apparently._

_The company itself is exactly as impressive as its founder. Though on the outside it seems a simple modelling agency, once you’ve taken a look inside you see it’s so much more. The ‘cooperative’ part, Hummel explains, is because they don’t just represent models. In fact, his ultimate goal is to represent every facet of the fashion industry, from fashion journalists to designers – even as far as manufacturers. Currently representing 62 models and 19 designers, it seems Hummel has a long way to go. Though if building an entire company fresh out of grad school was such a breeze for him, he should reach his goal in the next ten years._

_Still bashfully shaking his head, Hummel smiles again. “I think you give me too much credit,” he chuckles self-deprecatingly. Though I will decline to tell you my answer to that, I can say that we must all agree than he sells himself too short._

 “Well, fuck me,” I whispered to myself. “Kurt Hummel, you little shit.” 

* * *

 

_This walk would be a whole lot nicer if you were here –S_

_And people say you’re not romantic. –T_

I rolled his eyes and shoved my phone into my pocket. The February chill that had clung desperately to the first weeks of March seemed to be wearing out. Though I was still ready to whip out the winter coats at the first hint of wet, early spring snow, the air was less icy today. The sun filtered through the wispy clouds, trying to chase away the snow still lurking in the shadows of the trees and I wasn’t the only one out enjoying the coming warmth. Couples and dog-walkers wandered aimlessly, faces turned up toward the light, wearing smiles that were likely unconsciously put in place.

I didn’t usually come down to Central Park during my lunch break, but I’d given myself a few extra minutes to enjoy the sunshine even if it meant staying later to finish the work I ought to be doing now. It had just felt like the kind of day that needed a walk in the park. My phone buzzed again in my pocket.

_Maybe we should get you a dog to walk with. –T_

_Still not going to happen, baby. Dorian would kill it. –S_

_I hate your fucking cat, Sebastian. –T_

_It’s okay. He hates you, too. –S_

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!” the voice was immediate as I collided with another body.

“No, no, entirely my fault. Texting while walking: bad idea,” I was quick to reassure the other person, almost entirely missing how familiar that distinctive voice was.

“Well, fuck me sideways,” Kurt Hummel said, a dazzling smile crossing his face, “Sebastian Smythe, did you just apologize to me?” I laughed out loud.

“Kurt, hey. I didn’t see you there,” I said, feeling the overwhelming sensation of déjà vu as I was catapulted back to the day I had said those same words with every intent to hurt. “And, in my defense, the words ‘I’m sorry’ never left my mouth.”

“Oh, well, good. Then you haven’t changed at all,” he replied. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s really you. Manhattan is not a small place, I never actually thought I would run into you.”

“You knew I was living in Manhattan?” I asked.

“Well, sure, I almost didn’t read the New York Times when I found the column you’d written. I boycotted the paper for an entire week before my roommate left the Sunday Style section on my pillow,” he admitted flippantly.

“Well, gee, thanks,” I muttered in mock sarcasm and outrage. He laughed. “How is Blaine?” The grin that had been occupying his face during our chat dimmed slightly.

“I don’t know, have you heard any of his singles on the radio?” he asked simply. I frowned.

“No. I don’t understand.”

“Blaine and I haven’t been together for years,” he explained, “I can’t believe he didn’t tell you. I always assumed he had.”

“We weren’t as close as he made it seem,” I admitted. “Once I stopped trying to have sex with him, I realized he was incredibly shallow and self-centered and I got enough of that from my little sister. I stopped talking to him entirely not too long after his big proposal.” I shrugged. “No big loss.” Kurt gave me a dry smile.

“I’d have to agree with you there.” The high whine of a very annoying ringtone bit the air and had Kurt scrambling for his cell phone. “Millie? Talk to me.”

I rocked back on my heels. Kurt shot me a smile and held up one dainty finger to tell me to stay. As he spoke to what I assumed was his assistant, I studied the 30-year-old Kurt Hummel. He was so very different from the icy 17-year-old I had met all those years ago. His face was warm and open like I had never seen it. He’d lost every ounce of baby fat that had still be clinging to his teenage body and he’d grown into his face beautifully. Even the asshole I was in high school couldn’t find anything negative to say about Kurt Hummel now.

He was wearing his hair marginally shorter than he had in high school, keeping up to date with the latest in men’s hair styles. His clothing had become more subdued, but no less fashionable. Though I didn’t know the designer, I could tell that both his pants and jacket were designer and the rest of the suit hiding under his coat was no doubt the same expensive label. He stood tall and regal like he had never done in high school. Back then, though his spine was ramrod straight, there was a tension to his shoulders as if he was fighting the urge to flinch at any given moment. Now he was relaxed and so in his element that holding his chin up was simply a reflex as if he knew that he was better than everyone around him.

“I’m sorry about that. I’ve got a bit of an emergency back at the office,” he told me as he hung up. “We should catch up some other time, though.” I grinned.

“Absolutely. I know this great coffee place,” I agreed, winking. He tossed his head back and laughed.

“I’m sure you do. And I suppose you’ve set up shop there, too,” he joked, still chuckling slightly as he dug a sleek sliver business card holder from the bag hanging from his shoulder. He handed me one. “Call me. We’ll do coffee or something.” I took it, still smiling, and with a wave he was off, still shaking his head and laughing as he walked away.

I flipped the card over in my hand, looking down at it. _Kurt Hummel, Hummel Agents Cooperative._ I smiled, tucking it into my pocket. “Or something,” I murmured to myself. 

* * *

“So, journalism. Never pegged you for the type,” Kurt said, sipping from his cup as he sat across from me in the cozy coffee shop I frequented.

“Honestly, I think it just started as a way to tell my parents I wasn’t going to become District Attorney for Westerville, Ohio. It might have also just been that I’d pulled the pamphlet for BU out of a pile and pointed randomly to a major. I’m not really sure,” I told him, stirring an obscene amount of sugar into my own coffee. “Either way, I kind of fell in love with it. What about you? Thought you would have made a splash on Broadway by now.” Kurt shrugged.

“I did go to NYADA for a bit. I’m sure Blaine told you the story; he bragged about it to everyone even though it didn’t directly pertain to him,” he said, sniffing dismissively as he verbally backhanded his ex-boyfriend.

“He told me you got in by singing a song that was about him which is what you should have done in the first place,” I interrupted. He snorted.

“It wasn’t about him. It was the first thing that popped into my head that I could remember all the words to under pressure.” He paused to sip his coffee and smile sadly into his cup. “My mom sang it all the time. It was the first song I ever memorized.”

“Well, like I said. No great loss,” I said quickly, directing the conversation back to lighter topics. He smiled gratefully.

“Yeah. Anyway, I took an econ class at NYADA – it’s funny, Econ was a general elective there while in other colleges it’s an entire major – and pretty much stumbled into a love of business. One of our projects was to create our own business and do the finances for it for one month. After that, I pretty much realized that Broadway didn’t hold any real interest for me anymore. So I quit and started at NYU for business.”

“I sure as hell wouldn’t have pegged you for the business type,” I said. He grinned.

“That makes two of us.”

“So what happened to the famous Klaine? I mean, I did have to do that stupid proposal performance so I deserve some explanation as to why it was unnecessary, don’t I?” I asked after we’d gone a few moments in silence. He chuckled a little bitterly.

“Well, that’s a bit of a back story. What I bet he didn’t tell you was that I had only just agreed to give him a second chance less than a week before,” he muttered hotly. I wondered what Blaine must have done to Kurt that had him still holding a grudge while he’d apparently forgiven me.

“A second chance?” I asked expectantly. He sighed dramatically.

“Well,” he began, drawing out the word for dramatic effect, “see he cheated on me.”

“Wow, you had me all wound up with that long ‘well’ then you just drop the bomb like that. It feels a little anti-climactic. Do you have no sense of build?” I demanded. He rolled his eyes, but the bitterness had left his laugh. “But, in all seriousness, he actually cheated on you? Like penetrative sex and everything?”

“Charming as ever, Sebastian,” Kurt sniffed. “And yes. He claimed he felt neglected. He went so far as to say it was my fault! Absolutely ridiculous. And I even bought it at the time. I had sunk that low. It was awful.

“Anyway, after the second time he cheated on me for the same reasons, my friend, Elliott, gave me a pamphlet on emotional manipulation. It was pretty much the definition of Blaine and my relationship. I broke it off with him. Best decision I ever made, I can tell you that.”

“Huh,” was all I had to say. I’d never thought to expect it from Blaine, but looking back I probably wouldn’t have had too difficult a time getting him to sleep with me if I had really put in the effort.

“Speaking of, why did you agree to do the proposal performance – as you so aptly called it?” he asked.

“I kind of thought it would be fun to see you shoot him down. While I didn’t know he’d cheated on you, I did know you’d been broken up. But, also, I knew it would be a good way to get a little bit of the Warbler’s stellar reputation back after the damage Hunter caused,” I explained. “Why did you say yes?”

“It’s what everyone wanted me to say. And I was still dazzled by Blaine. He manipulated me so well that I didn’t even notice that the spark had burned out long ago,” he admitted. “I’m not proud.”

“Hey, you didn’t realize you were being manipulated. That’s the power of it. It’s not your fault at all,” I said, reached across to touch his hand. He smiled up at me.

“You know, you’re the first person to tell me that who isn’t my parent or someone I met in New York. All my Ohio friends were on Blaine’s side. Well, Mercedes wasn’t, and by extension Sam, but they never told me outright that it wasn’t my fault.”

“Your friends suck, then,” I said plainly, withdrawing my hand. “Do you still talk to any of them?”

“Mostly Santana and Quinn, funnily enough,” he said. “Santana came to my rescue once when Blaine was drunk and beating down my door demanding another shot. And Quinn reached out to me after we graduated and she got a job here in the city. They’re really the only two, though.”

“You don’t talk to Rachel anymore? I thought she thought you two were inseparable.”

“She apparently thought wrong,” he said wryly, “we fell out of touch when I left NYADA and started rooming with Elliott to be closer to the NYU campus. I talk to her a bit still, but we’re not really friends anymore. What about you? Still talk to any Warblers?”

“Jeff, of course,” I said, “he was the closest thing I had to a best friend. We got closer after graduation though. We meet up whenever we can, but he’s living out in Paris right now with his wife.” Kurt let out a low whistle.

“Jeff snagged a Parisian?” I laughed.

“No, Jeff snagged an East Coast hottie with big dreams. He’s not mean enough to get with a Parisian, though his wife isn’t the sweetest candy in the box either.”

“Do you know his wife well?” he asked.

“Of course. They’ve been together for almost ten years now. She’s a real bitch when she wants to be, but Jeff still insists she’s the kindest, most warm-hearted person he’s ever met.”

“Well, gee, I feel forgotten,” Kurt sniffed. I laughed.

“You were kind of an ice queen in high school, Hummel, don’t pretend like you weren’t.”

“Hey! I was nice to Jeff,” he insisted indignantly.

“Everyone was nice to Jeff,” I pointed out.

“My point still stands,” he snapped. I drained the rest of my coffee and looked over at him, just noticing the ring on his left hand.

“So, you broke up with Blaine, but you’re married now. Who’s the lucky guy?” I asked. He smiled automatically.

“His name is Tim Badir. He owns that night club, Steam.” I stared at him.

“You married a night club owner?” I asked.

“Yep,” he said, still smiling.

“You married a night club owner,” I deadpanned. He chuckled.

“That’s what I said.”

“Do you guys, like, do your finances on the kitchen table? Hold hands over your calculators? Bitch about your worthless assistants? I’m sorry, I just can’t see it,” I said, slumping back in my chair.

“Is it really that strange?” he asked. “Are you still trying to make your way into every gay guy in New York City?”

“Point taken,” I conceded. “And I’ll have you know that I am happily engaged.” I waved my own left hand in front of his face, showing off the ring.

“Good for you, Sebastian. I knew you weren’t completely soulless,” he praised mockingly.

“Hey, my sister is the ginger one, not me,” I snapped playfully. He chuckled yet again and I realized this was the happiest I’d ever seen him (granted, when I was around he was generally in a foul mood, but he hadn’t even looked this happen when Blaine proposed).

“So, are you going to tell me about him?” Kurt pressed. I smiled.

“His name is Tripp Weston,” I began.

“I’m sorry, Tripp?” Kurt interrupted, “Who the fuck names their child Tripp?” He clapped a hand over his mouth then mouthed an apology to the glaring mother who had passed our table when he said that. I snorted with laughter.

“Yes, his name is Tripp. He’s a floor broker on Wall Street,” I continued.

“A stock trader? He’s one of those guys who stands on the floor and shouts numbers all day?” he butted in again.

“Yep. That’s my man,” I boasted proudly. “He’s a licensed investment advisor, but he loves the floor.” Kurt smiled, less teasingly and more genuine.

“It’s good that you’re happy, Sebastian. I’m glad.” We smiled at each other for a little while, the animosity between us in high school all but forgotten.

“Well, I better get back to the office. I’ve got a bunch of stuff to review before shipping it off to layout by 5,” I said finally, standing and grabbing both our empty cups.

“We should do this again,” Kurt said, grabbing his jacket. I smiled widely.

“Definitely,” I agreed. We walked out to the street together.

“I’ll call you,” Kurt said as a sleek town car pulled up to the curb. He hopped in and waved before shutting the door.

“So this is what it’s like to feel poor,” I muttered to myself, making for the subway stop down the block. 

* * *

“YOU TALKED TO KURT?!” Jeff screeched. I cringed and held the phone away from my ear.

“Would you pipe down? I know it’s daytime out where you are, but it’s after midnight here,” I hissed, hunkering down into the cushions and clamping the phone back to my face.

“Hey, you’re in New York City, you know the City that Never Sleeps?” he retorted.

“Yeah, well, my fiancé works on Saturdays. And he _is_ asleep so keep your voice down,” I snapped. Jeff let out a long sigh.

“Sebastian,” he said in a sweetly condescending tone, “You know I’m not actually there with you, right? I’m on the phone with you. Your fiancé isn’t going to wake up.”

“Yeah, I know,” I muttered, “If you were here with me that would have earned you a good smacking. Do you talk to your wife like that?”

“You think I’d still be around if I did? But anyway, how is Kurt? I totally lost track of him when he transferred back out. I wish I hadn’t!”

“He’s doing really well. Google Hummel Agents Cooperative. That’s his company,” I told him. Jeff squeaked.

“He owns his own company?! Holy crap!”

“I know, right?”

“Jesus, no wonder I never see his name in Playbills,” Jeff muttered. The sound of a door opening and closing came through his line.

“Is that Suzanne?”

“No, it’s my mistress. She was just leaving,” he said sarcastically. “Who the hell do you think it is, Sebastian?” Suzanne’s laugh burst out in the background. There was a sudden scuffle, then a girl’s voice was on the line.

“Hey, Sebastard,” Suzanne said cheerfully. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much.”

“Mm, I feel that,” she said. We both fell silent for a while and I reflected on the fact that mine and Suzanne’s friendship was based on only a few things: 1) our mutual (though very different) love for Jeff, 2) our matching, if slightly sadistic, sense of humor, and 3) our hatred of the general population around us. She chuckled suddenly.

“I gotta get to work, but we should do this again sometime,” she said happily.

“Sure, Suzy Q, we’ll do this again,” I agreed, rolling my eyes a little bit, but smiling.

“Say ‘hi’ to Tripp,” she paused to snort quietly at his name, “for me.”

“Will do. Give the phone back to Jeff,” I assured her. I heard the soft smack of a quick kiss and a door much closer to the phone open and close before Jeff started talking again.

“So Kurt owns his own company. I just looked it up. Kind of awesome. Did you read the article in the Sunday Business section in the Times? He’s loaded!” Jeff said wonderingly. “Christ, I want to get coffee with Kurt! I miss him! He was sweet. Is he still with Blaine?”

“Nope,” I said, popping the hard ‘p’ sound for emphasis. “Married a night club owner.”

“Awesome. Good for him.” I yawned loudly.

“I should let you sleep, I’m sorry. We’re always calling when it’s morning here, I never stay up late to call you at a reasonable hour there. I suck, I’m a terrible friend. I’m sorry!” he said in a rush. “I have to get to work, too. I’m going to be late! I’ll call you later tonight, okay? Miss you!”

“Yeah, okay,” I said, knowing he would forget, but forgiving him anyway, “miss you, too, man. I’ll see you at the wedding.”

“That’s so far away!” Jeff whined “But yes! I’m going to be the best, Best Man ever! See you!”

“Bye. Get to school, now,” I ordered.

“Hey, I’m the teacher, I give the orders. Go to bed!” he shot. Before I could get the last word, he disconnected. I smiled. Next time he called, I would give him Kurt’s number. No doubt he would love to talk to Jeff as well.

* * *

 

“Sebastian Smythe? The journalist that you nearly stopped reading the Times for?” Tim asked, his brow furrowing.

“That would be me,” I said happily.

“I can’t believe Seamus told you that story,” Kurt muttered at the table. Tim chuckled and dropped a kiss on Kurt’s hand. I pretended to gag.

“Wow, you literally haven’t changed at all,” he continued, looking unimpressed. Tripp settled back in his chair and looked back and forth between Kurt and me expectantly.

“I’m sorry, baby, is there something I can do for you?” I asked teasingly.

“I want to know about the history between the two of you, that’s all, shnookums,” he shot back. Kurt snorted into his drink.

“We knew each other back in high school,” he provided as Tim look on curiously as well. “Sebastian was a real dick then. Like, more than he is now.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Tripp put in.

“Oh, thanks, sweetie,” I said sarcastically. Why hadn’t I seen this coming? Double dating with Kurt Hummel would never end well for me. Dinner was a mistake. Even as I came up with a subject changer, Kurt was already opening his mouth, a devious little glint in his eye.

He continued brightly, having found a captive audience for his tale, “Oh, no, it’s true. He was a real asshole. I mean, he slept around, he only communicated through insults, he tried to steal my boyfriend, he almost blinded my boyfriend, he cheated at Regionals—”  
“Excuse me, that was not my idea,” I snapped. Kurt grinned.

“No, but you went along with it. Anyway,” he turned back to Tripp, practically glowing at being able to unload everything he’d ever thought about me, “he was truly cruel when I met him. He never stopped making effeminophobic remarks about me. He didn’t even try to seem like a nice person. Unless he was trying to seduce Blaine.”

“Wow, I might have to call this engagement off,” Tripp said, turning to look at me. I scowled at Kurt. “You really are nasty.”

“C’mon, I wasn’t _that_ mean to you,” I insisted. “I even apologized and everything.”

“Yeah, you apologized,” he conceded, “but you still tried to steal my boyfriend.”

“And clearly I would have been doing you a favor,” I muttered. The waitress came around with our food and there were a few minutes of quiet as we started eating.

“So, Kurt, Tim, how did you two meet?” Tripp asked finally. I breathed out a sigh of relief as the topic of high-school me was apparently dropped.

“I auditioned for a gig at his club with my band. Well, at that time he was only a bartender, of course. He chatted me up after our set and I agreed to go on a date with him,” Kurt began.

“He turned me down flat, actually,” Tim continued. “The first seven times I asked. _Seven._ He turned me down. I mean, this went on for four months.”

“Four months?” I repeated, raising an eyebrow at Kurt. “Didn’t it take Blaine all of five minutes to get you to be his boyfriend?”

“Shut up, I thought I was in love back then,” Kurt snapped.

“Four months,” Tim came back in. “I was gracious, see. I waited a couple weeks in between each of my attempts.”

“That was because our band only preformed once every couple weeks. You basically asked me out every time we saw each other,” Kurt pointed out. Tim shrugged.

“Either way, he finally said yes.”

“Eighth time’s the charm, huh?” Tripp chuckled.

“Why’d you keep turning him down?” I asked. Kurt shrugged.

“I think I was still a little shaken because of Blaine. Even though this was nearly a year after I dumped him, it still hurt,” he explained.

“So you’ve only had two boyfriends in your life?” I deadpanned.

“You’ve had one,” he shot back coolly.

“Touché,” I said.

“What about you two, how did you meet?” Tim asked.

“We both like gay bars,” I said simply. Tripp nodded. Kurt stared at us for a while before shaking his head.

“I should have known you would have the lamest meet-cute ever,” he said finally.

“While you have the most chick-flicky,” I retorted. “Yours is literally a meet-cute.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Tim said smugly, draping an arm across the back of Kurt’s chair. I rolled my eyes.

Dinner was finished in amicable conversation about nothing in particular after that. We talked about TV shows we both watched, the movies that had come out recently, and the news. By the time the check had arrived, Tim and I had moved from recent movies to a deep discussion on why we both agreed B-rated, low-budget horror movies were grossly underrated. I could see Tripp and Kurt out of the corner of my eye having what seemed to be a very intense conversation of their own and I couldn’t help smiling. It was a bit surreal to see such a big part of my adolescent life clicking in so perfectly with my life now.

“So, are we doing this like a real date, or going Dutch?” Tripp asked as the waitress dropped off the check.

“I’ll take care of it,” Kurt said cheerfully, not even glancing at the total as he slipped a Platinum card into the folder.

“You’re not the only rich one here, Princess,” I told him, hooking an arm around Tripp’s shoulders. “Wall Street men earn a lot of money.” Kurt just smiled innocently.

“Do journalists?” I scowled as Tim and Tripp laughed.

“You can get the next one,” he promised, leaning back and keeping that innocent smile on his face.

“Next one?” I asked. “I’m never double dating with you people again.” Tripp laughed.

“Oh, baby, he doesn’t like us,” Tim complained, tugging at Kurt’s sleeve. Kurt swatted him playfully.

“Sebastian doesn’t like anyone. He’s an ass. Weren’t you here for the first half of that meal?”

“Hey! I like people!” I defended myself quickly. “I like Tripp. And Jeff. And Dorian.”  
“Dorian doesn’t count, babe, he’s a cat, not a people,” Tripp reminded me unhelpfully. I glared and told him what I thought of his comment.

“You named your cat Dorian?” Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I like _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , okay, Hummel? It’s my favorite book,” I snapped. How in the world had this come back around to ragging on me? Kurt smirked like he knew what I was thinking.

“There’s nothing wrong with liking Wilde. I’m a fan myself. I was just under the impression for a long time that you didn’t know how to read,” he replied sweetly. I raised an eyebrow.

“Me being a journalist didn’t tip you off to being wrong?”

“Well, maybe,” Kurt agreed, a dark twinkle in his eye told me he wasn’t done, “but it’s just you never were very good at reading my body language when I was telling you to back off.” I rolled my eyes.

“That was the _worst_ insult you’ve ever given me, Kurt. And I’m counting the reference to my _slightly_ large front teeth,” he groaned. “You couldn’t have done better?” Kurt shrugged.

“You know,” Tim said, standing and putting on his coat as Kurt finished signing the bill, “it says a lot about you two that the only comment you had about that was to critique the level of insult he dealt you. I’m surprised you two weren’t friends.” Kurt patted him on the cheek and tugged the zipper of his coat up to his chin. Tim made a show of choking.

“I’m insulted that you would think I would hang out with the likes of him. I have standards, Timmy,” he said.

“Apparently not anymore. We just double dated,” I told him, imitating that sweet voice he used on me. Kurt shrugged.

“My standards have dropped,” he replied simply. Tim looked offended for a moment before joining Tripp in laughter.

“This has been fun,” Tripp said as we reached the sidewalk, “We should do this again.” Kurt and Tim nodded and started for the town car waiting for them.

“I’ll see you next week, Tripp!” Kurt called back as he climbed in. Tripp raised a hand and waved in acknowledgement before wrapping an arm around my waist and turning us toward the subway.

“What are you and Kurt getting up to next week?” I asked suspiciously. Tripp grinned.

“We’re obviously going to have marathon sex and use all of your toys,” he drawled. I shoved his face away from mine as he leaned in to leer at me.

“Dick,” I muttered. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and I couldn’t not laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me,” he replied. “But, really, I’m meeting him to go over things with stocks. He’s thinking of increasing the number of shares but he’s not fond of having so many that he needs to have a board of directors. I told him he should get over that; with the way his company is going, he’ll need to increase in size sooner or later. Either way, we’re going to talk about the number of shares he should put out and their price.” We were standing on the platform now and I looked at him incredulously.

“What?” he asked, taking his arm from my waist to adjust his glove on his hand.

“Basically all I’m hearing from you right now is that you invited Kurt Hummel to become even more involved in our lives,” I said. He rolled his eyes.

“You’re excited about it, don’t lie,” he said, pulling my ear. I huffed.

“Shut up.” He was chuckling still when we got off the train at our stop.

* * *

 

“Hey, baby, you hungry?” Tripp called as I walked into our apartment.

“Yes, what is there?” I said eagerly, dropping a kiss on his cheek while he worked at our breakfast bar.

“Kurt and I got Thai from that place you like. Leftovers are in the fridge. Why were you out so late?” he asked. It still shocked me that he asked the question without any accusation, only curiosity.

“Layout problems. And my new assistant is an idiot so we had to go over my entire schedule for the next four months because she screwed everything up,” I muttered as I dug out some of the Thai. Tripp made a small noise that he’d heard though he was only half listening, focused on his task. I set a plate in the microwave and peeked over his shoulder.

“What’s that?” I asked. Tripp didn’t respond, making a few notes on a legal pad at his elbow. I poked him at the nape of his neck and he started.

“Christ, Seb! Give a guy a heart attack!” he hissed, turning toward me. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to know what was so exciting you wouldn’t even look up to kiss your beautiful fiancé,” I replied. He rolled his eyes but smiled, leaning up to kiss me.

“It’s just stuff for Kurt. His grandparents invested in a lot of stock for him and his dad just found all of it; he’d forgotten for a long time about any of it so Kurt has to have everything transferred into his name. There’s some bonds here, too. Kurt’s going to be ever richer when I’ve transferred this all,” he explained, packing everything into messy piles so I could sit and eat with him. I grabbed my plate and sat down.

“Damn it,” I muttered, “I remember being rich.” Tripp laughed. He reached behind my chair to slide his fingers through the hair at the base of my head.

“Don’t worry, baby, when we get married, half of what I make will be yours,” he assured me sweetly. I rolled my eyes.

Tripp returned to his work and I started eating, pulling out my laptop and going over my letter from the editor. We continued in relative silence for a while, only the sound of his pencil and my laptop serving as dinner conversation. I swallowed another bite of Thai food and shook my head, focusing back in on my work. I couldn’t keep it out of my mind tonight. Sure we laughed about it sometimes, but sometimes it still hurt, too. Most times. I felt Tripp’s hand suddenly, pushing my hair off my forehead.

“You need a haircut,” he said softly. I saved my progress and turned to him. He’d stacked Kurt’s stocks off to the side, his calculator resting on top of the pile. There was a quietly expectant look on his face. I pushed my laptop a little further away and looked back at my plate, taking another bite.

“I just don’t like thinking about it,” I said finally. Tripp’s hand came up to comb through my hair again.

“I know,” he said. “It’s hard.” I sighed, pushing my plate in the same direction as my laptop.

“A little,” I muttered sarcastically. I slumped down and angled toward him. He massaged my scalp gently. “I guess I just thought maybe they’d finally be okay with it if they thought I was happy. I didn’t even know they could do that.”

“Neither did I. They must have retained control of your trust fund even after you turned 21,” he said quietly.

“Probably to keep me in line,” I said bitterly. I saw Tripp nod out of the corner of my eye. There was a few minutes of silence.

“Don’t think about it, Seb,” Tripp said quietly. “They never deserved you.” I closed my eyes, my chin dropping toward my chest. He slid his fingers from my hair and raised my chin to meet my eye.

“I love you,” he said sincerely. I smiled a bit and leaned in to kiss him.

“I love you,” I murmured.

“C’mon,” Tripp said, pulling me up. I looked at the time, surprised to see it was almost ten. He put an arm around my waist as we moved toward the bedroom. 

* * *

I wasn’t sure how it happened, but by May, Kurt Hummel had become a permanent fixture in my life. We got coffee every couple days and every few weeks, we’d troupe out with our significant others to get dinner, catch a movie, or, like tonight, go a few rounds at the bowling alley. I took a drink of my beer and watched Tim shoot down another perfect strike. Tripp grimaced and shook his head as Kurt cheered, egging Tim on as he bowed mockingly for us. He and Kurt were kicking our asses.

“You sure he’s not greasing his ball?” Tripp called over the music.

“Why would I admit it if he was? We’re winning!” Kurt replied. “You’re up, Seb.” I sighed, dragging my feet up to our lane.

“We’re not having another game if you guys win this one again,” I shouted as I lined up. Kurt just perched on Tim’s lap and gave me a serene smile.

“You said that last time,” he said. “Now stop stalling and bowl another gutter ball.” I flipped him off and turned back to the lane. It wasn’t a gutter ball this time, but I only got three pins down. I rolled my eyes as Kurt, Tim, and Tripp laughed at me good-naturedly.

“Okay, come on, big guy,” Kurt said, getting up. He came over and guided me back into place. “You just need to work on releasing the ball at the lowest point of your swing and the closer to the floor that is, the more forward momentum you’re going to get. And try to keep your wrist and arm straight even through the follow through.” He pointed at the middle pin. “Take time to aim and try again.” I didn’t pick up the spare, but it was a better turn then my others.

“I can’t believe you never bowled before,” Kurt told me as he went up for his turn.

“I had better things to do,” I called as he knocked over eight pins.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Fuck,” I replied with a wink. He laughed again, taking the remaining pins down in a neat spare.

“Guess we’ll just have to do it more often so you can practice.” Tripp and I both groaned.

“Please, no,” Tripp said. “I don’t like getting my ass handed to me.” Tim patted him on the shoulder.

“Maybe you should have picked a better person to marry, then,” he said. After two months, Tim had picked up Kurt’s little habit of off-handed insults and apparently felt no remorse in following his example in directing them all at me.

“Maybe,” Tripp agreed, smiling widely at me. I shoved him off the bench.

“Asshole,” I said, “Like you could do better than me.” We all laughed again as Tripp went up to try to redeem us a little. He wasn’t a bowling champion like Tim, but he did way better than me.

“Kurt!” a voice shouted over the music and crashing of bowling pins. We all looked around, curious.

Emerging from the crowd came none other than Blaine Anderson. I saw Kurt stiffen out of the corner of my eye. He was smiling widely and had his arms open for a hug he no doubt expected from Kurt. Tim’s arm came up to wind around his shoulders. Blaine’s smile didn’t falter.

“What are you doing here?” he asked cheerfully as if he couldn’t feel the tension rolling off Kurt in waves.

“Bowling,” Kurt said flatly. Blaine laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. Tim’s arm tightened around Kurt, the look in his eye more protective than jealously possessive.

“I guess that would make sense,” Blaine said, still smiling. I wondered what I’d ever seen in him.

Kurt had a tendency to complain about Blaine when drunk. Last week, Santana had been in town while on tour with Brittany and they’d stopped by to catch up with Kurt. He’d invited Quinn as well, but she’d had a court case and couldn’t join us for a movie. It had ended up being just Kurt, Santana, and me, though, when Brittany twisted her ankle in a show and had to stay home to rest it before the next night’s performance and Tim had to work all night at the club. Santana had brought tequila and I had brought vodka and before the movie was half way over, Kurt was explaining in great detail all the things he’d secretly hated about Blaine. Santana had heard them all and didn’t hesitate to pass out on us while Kurt went on leaving me to listen to the surprisingly long list on my own. Looking at Blaine now, knowing all that, I had to wonder how I hadn’t seen it in high school.

He didn’t appear to have changed as much as Kurt. His hair was still cemented down with so much gel it was reflecting the flashing lights of the bowling alley. Though he had exchanged his boat shoes for Oxfords, he hadn’t lost his bowtie affliction. Today’s model looked to be a rather muddy green with and unrecognizable pattern on it. It was hard to tell with the lighting, but I was willing to bet it was hideous.

Where Kurt had slimmed down and now looked fit and lean, Blaine had put on some weight across the middle. There was an extra roundness to his cheeks and the pudge of a beer gut under his button down. His face was still generically handsome, but after five years in New York, I recognized it as merely pretty and very forgettable. Here, under the lights of a retro style bowling alley with my fiancé at my side and Kurt Hummel in my corner, Blaine was just another face in the crowd.

“What are you doing here?” Kurt asked neutrally, more out of politeness than curiosity. Blaine positively beamed.

“Looking for you, of course.” He turned slightly and noticed me apparently for the first time. “Sebastian! Hey! What are you doing here?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Bowling,” I echoed Kurt in a deadpan tone. “With my fiancé and my friends.” Blaine looked toward Tripp as I indicated him.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Blaine Anderson,” he introduced himself. Tripp shook his hand briefly, looking as disdainful as possible while maintaining an air of politeness.

“Tripp Weston,” he replied shortly, taking his hand back as quickly as he could without seeming rude. Blaine nodded uninterestedly and returned his attention to Kurt.

“I’m glad I caught you Kurt. I thought you probably hadn’t heard me the other day in the coffee shop or maybe you were in a hurry or something. Anyway, I was hoping we could catch up sometime. Maybe over dinner, tomorrow?” he asked eagerly. I had the sudden image of a puppy wagging its tail at Kurt’s feet. Kurt frowned slightly, putting his arm around Tim’s waist. I could see his other hand clenched tightly, knuckles white even under the colored lights.

“Probably not. I’ve got a lot going on at the office and a long time before I can get time off,” he replied.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Blaine said. He went on, still looking hopeful, “but coffee maybe? On your lunch break or something?” He’d trapped Kurt now. Kurt could either be impolite and tell him to shove it, or he could agree to get coffee with an ex he clearly didn’t want to see. I stepped in, knowing already that Kurt would risk an awkward hour with his ex-boyfriend before seeming impolite.

“Kurt and I are getting lunch tomorrow,” I said, stepping into Blaine’s line of sight and half in front of Kurt. “And probably for the next few days after that. I finally got him to give the magazine and exclusive on the company so we’ll be meeting to talk about that.” There was a flash of annoyance in Blaine’s eye.

“Right. That’s too bad.” I looked past me to see Kurt again. “I’ll be in New York all summer. You should give me a call and we can go out and catch up. Maybe get a little tipsy.” He winked. “I’ll see you around, Kurt.” He looked back at me, before turning to leave and something in his eye had me stepping the rest of the way in front of Kurt protectively.

When he’d disappeared from sight, Tim, Tripp and I all turned to look at Kurt. His mouth was set in a tight line and his shoulders were tensed. Tim gently coaxed him to the bench, not saying a word as we all sat. He was silent for a minute.

“I’m going to get some fresh air,” he finally said. Tim released him and let him change shoes and leave.

“Guess we’ll call it a night,” he said quietly, just barely audible over the music. Tripp nodded.

“You guys were going to win anyway,” he said, trying for lightness. He reached over to the computer to cancel the rest of the game. “We’ve got this one. We’ll see you next week.” Tim nodded, grabbing Kurt’s jacket and his windbreaker. He waved once before following Kurt out.

Tripp looked at me as we switched back to our normal shoes. I shook my head a bit, focusing on tying my shoes for a moment. I felt him stand next to me and took his offered hand as I stood. He laced our fingers together as we returned the shoes and went to pay for the game. When we reached the side walk he nodded toward the corner of the building.

Tim was leaning against the wall looking at a loss for what to do. Kurt appeared to be fuming. I headed over.

“I got this,” I told Tim quietly. Kurt ignored me, glaring down at the sidewalk. Tim nodded worriedly and made his way over to where Tripp was standing. I took his place next to Kurt against the wall.

“What else did he do to you?” I asked. Kurt huffed.

“He wants to get back together,” was all he said. His hands clenched and unclenched restlessly. He shoved them in his pockets, repeating, “He wants to get back together.”

“He knows you’re married, right?” I asked.

“He fucking better,” Kurt snapped. “He tried to grab me and I left an imprint of my wedding band on his face.” I snorted into laughter.

“You smacked him?” I asked. Kurt’s mouth twitched up reluctantly at the corners.

“Punched him, actually,” he admitted. “I’m lucky there weren’t any people around.”

“When did this happen?” I asked, calming down a bit.

“Just a few minutes ago. Tim came out to find me and head home and I was still so pissed I snapped at him.” He leaned around me to look down the street a little ways to where Tripp and Tim were watching us curiously.

“You should probably go apologize to him,” I said. Kurt sighed. I bumped him with my shoulder.

“Bet it felt good.” His mouth twitched again and he smiled grudgingly.

“It did,” he admitted. “I just want him out of my life.” He sighed again, his smile dropping. “You should watch yourself, too. He accused me of sleeping with you.”

“Well, thanks for the heads up, but I don’t expect to be seeing him again. He only had eyes for you anyway.” We leaned against the wall for a few seconds longer before Kurt pushed off and went down the sidewalk to meet Tim.

Tripp walked my way, leaving them with relative privacy. As he reached me he asked, “What was all that?” I glanced over to where Tim was combing his fingers through Kurt’s hair, saying something that had Kurt leaning in to kiss him softly.

“Blaine is Kurt’s ex,” I explained, looking back at my fiancé. “Seems he’s still pushing to get back together with Kurt. They’ve been broken up a solid eight or nine years now.” Tripp gave a little ‘huh’ and followed my gaze back to the couple. Tim raised his hand to wave as they got in their car. He turned back to me.

“You’re glad we’re friends with them,” he said, a note of teasing in his voice. I made a face for posterity’s sake.

“Shut up.”

“You were all protective in there. So cute,” Tripp continued as we started for the subway.

“I said shut up,” I repeated.

“Big, mighty Sebastian come to save the day from pushy ex-boyfriends,” he teased. I shoved him, smiling.

“I hate you,” I told him. Tripp laughed and caught my hand again.

“Back at you, Super Sebastian,” he assured me, squeezing my hand. 

* * *

“So you going to tell me what else happened with Blaine that you were so upset to see him?” I asked over lunch the following day. I hadn’t meant to actually eat with him, only drop off a book he’d let me borrow while we both had an hour free, but he’d needed a break so we headed to a café a few doors down from his office. Kurt paused in chewing before putting his sandwich down and washing down his bite with a sip of water.

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to talk about it. Most of my friends only know vague details and Tim is the only other person I’ve talked about this with,” he began. I frowned, not liking where this was going.

“Okay,” I said slowly. Kurt played with the condensation forming on his glass before starting in.

“Remember how I told you Santana came to my rescue once when Blaine was demanding another chance with me?” he asked, waiting for my nod before continuing. “Well there’s a bit more to that story.

“Blaine’s never been able to hold his alcohol. I don’t know if you remember a lot from that night at Scandals a thousand years ago, but he tends to get sloppy and handsy when drunk. He was drunk that night he came to see me. I was staying with Santana while Elliott’s apartment building got fumigated because someone had bedbugs. I don’t know how he knew to look for me there, but he did.

“Santana was working late that night and I’d only been dating Tim for a month or so, so we weren’t exactly at the point of staying at each other’s places. When he knocked, I thought it was one of Santana’s neighbors dropping off baked goods or something. She has a neighbor down the hall who’s elderly but doesn’t have any grandkids to dote on, so she dotes on the people in the building and I was her current favorite. I opened the door and Blaine was right there in my face. I tried to shut the door on him but he was stronger than me still and he pushed his way in.” Kurt stopped. He looked away, out the window of the café. His hand trembled slightly as he took another drink of water but he took a breath and went on.

“He was all over me, saying how good we were together and how much he wanted me and how if I just would give him one night, he would prove why it was wrong for us not to be together. I kept pushing him off and every time he would get more and more annoyed and come back with even more force. He was ripping my shirt off and kept trying to kiss me.” Kurt shuddered and I seriously regretting asking him to talk about this now. I reached out and caught one of his shaking hands. He looked up and gave me a grateful look. I didn’t say anything, just waited for him to go on.

“I managed to get away and lock myself in the bathroom. I left my phone in the living room or I would have called someone to help me out. Quinn took up self-defense when she moved here and Tim was a boxer like Blaine and Santana could probably remove his head from his body even without training.” He paused to let me chuckle at that. “But I didn’t have a phone or anything and he was banging down the door. Luckily Santana had gotten out of work early.

“When she got home, Blaine was still pounding on the bathroom door with so much force either the door or his hand would probably have broken soon. I was huddled in the tub knowing if he got in I had nowhere to run. She went crazy. I could hear them yelling through the door, but I was too scared to make sense of what they were saying. She called the cops though and managed to coax me out of the bathroom to talk to them. She even called Tim and he came rushing over to comfort me even though, by then, it was past midnight and he had an exam at 8:00 the next morning.” He took another drink of water but didn’t withdraw his hand from my grasp.

“Tim tried to get me to have a restraining order taken out against him. I don’t remember why I said no, but I didn’t do it. I probably should have,” he finished and looked up to meet my eye. “I don’t expect you to keep this from Tripp if you want to tell him, but I just really don’t like to talk about it. Ever.” I nodded, letting his hand go so he could return to his lunch.

“Sorry,” I said lamely. He smiled a bit.

“It’s fine. I would have told you eventually,” he admitted. I warmed.

“I appreciate that,” I said. “You know, I remember that night at Scandals.” And suddenly I did, with complete clarity. Kurt looked at me curiously.

“What’d he do to you?” he asked shrewdly. I frowned. This, like anything having to do with my parents or the boy who’d taken my own virginity, was something I didn’t think about much. My therapist would be getting an earful this week.

“Sort of the same thing,” I admitted quietly. I played with the silver band on my finger. “After you left he came back in and found me and tried to seduce me.” Kurt took another bite of his sandwich and waited silently for me to go on. I looked up to catch his eye. There was a note of empathy there, but no hint of expectancy. He would let me leave it at that if I didn’t want to talk about it. Strangely, that’s what spurred me on.

“Like you said, he gets handsy when he’s drunk. He was all over me. You know at first, I thought it would be fun. I still wanted him as a conquest. But even then I still had some morals and some rules and one of them was that I didn’t sleep with someone if they were super drunk. And he was super drunk. So I told him no.

“He got really pushy then, grabbing me and biting my neck. I pushed him off. It, uh,” I paused, not wanting to get into exactly who Blaine had reminded me of that night, “it brought up some old memories,” I finished lamely. Kurt didn’t press, only nodded.

“What did you do?”

“I got security to take him out and put him in a cab. Then I went home. Alone.” I wasn’t sure why I felt a need to add that’d I’d been alone, but Kurt seemed to understand what I wanted him to.

“I didn’t know Scandals had security,” he said after a minute. There was a forced lightness to his tone. I chuckled a bit.

“Well, not very good security, but they keep us safe enough,” I admitted. I took a bite of my own salad even though I’d lost my appetite.

“Does Tripp know?” Kurt asked quietly a minute later. I nodded, pretending to be determinedly chasing down a stray walnut in my salad. “That’s why he was cold to Blaine last night.” I nodded again. Once more, Kurt let it go. I could tell he knew there was something else I wasn’t telling him, but he also knew that it was something we shouldn’t discuss in this place at this time. My phone beeped.

“Shit,” I said suddenly, “I’ve got to run.” I flagged down a waiter and tossed some bills on the table as Kurt checked his own phone.

“Christ, me too,” he said. He settled up with the waiter as I hailed a cab then joined me at the curb.

“You want a ride?” he asked, motioning toward his office building where I assumed the town car was parked somewhere nearby. Another cab zoomed past us.

“Probably a good idea,” I admitted. We walked back to the building and he called his driver to come get me. I thanked him and caught his arm before he disappeared through the revolving door.

“Let me know if he comes by,” I said. Kurt shifted a bit, hiking his bag up on his shoulder and gave me a small smile.

“Yeah. You’ll be the first to know,” he assured me. I nodded and let him go. He nodded back and headed up to his office.

* * *

 

Tripp was sitting in the dark when I got home. I frowned and made my way over the couch where he sat. I sat on the coffee table facing him. He was still in his work clothes, his tie still done tightly at the neck, every button still closed on his shirt. He looked up at me then reached out, running his hands up and down my thighs and looking back down to follow the path with his eyes. I caught his face in my hands and tilted his eyes to meet mine.

“What’s wrong?” I asked softly as if speaking too loudly would break some sort of spell cast over us. He shook his head, his fingers digging into my thighs a bit, loosening the muscles marginally.

“Wasn’t the kid who accosted you at that gay bar in your home town named Blaine?” he returned, searching my face. I let him go, my hands sliding from his face down to my own knees.

“That was him,” I said. Tripp’s fingers paused, but he resumed his gentle massage after only a few seconds.

“And the one who tried to sleep with you in your senior year. That was also a Blaine,” he continued.

“Also him,” I admitted.

“He came to see me today. I don’t even know how he found out where I work,” Tripp said. I stiffened. “He tried to tell me you two had a history. He implied you would cheat on me with him.” I started to move away from him but one hand tightened on my leg and the other came up to catch my chin. “I told him to shove it.” I met his eye and returned the smile I saw there.

“You don’t think I will? After the shit I put you through when we first got together?” I asked uncertainly.

“Not even a little bit,” he said seriously, pulling me in. He kissed me thoroughly. “Do you think you will?”

“Never,” I said, shuddering a bit. He combed his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp the way I loved.

“Then why should I?” he asked softly. I smiled. He tugged me in again by the back of my head, pulling me to straddle his lap. We kissed again, deeper and dirtier than the first.

“Why are you in the dark? And still in your work clothes?” I asked between kisses. He leaned in to steal one last kiss before answering.

“Because everything you worry about, I worry about,” he said softly. “And if this is the same Blaine, I know it’ll be dredging up things you never want to think about.” I sat back on his thighs, rubbing my hands up and down his arms through his jacket.

“It is,” I agreed. “But I don’t want you stressing over me.” He rolled his eyes.

“You don’t get to choose what I stress about, baby. That’s the point of having a partner. They’ll worry about you even if you don’t need them to.” I smiled and kissed him again.

“What did he do when you told him to shove it?” I questioned when we broke apart again.

“Stormed off. He said something about showing me who you really were and then left.” His eyes turned dark. “That’s what worried me.”

“I’m a big boy,” I said, trying to swallow down the lump rising in my throat, “I can take care of myself.” Tripp’s fingers tightened around my hips a bit.

“I know. But whatever he does to you, if he does something – anything – to you, it’s just going to remind you,” he trailed off and pushed his fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath. I pushed down the urge to cry.

“And we’ll work through it,” I assured him. “He’s not going to hurt me. I won’t let him.” Tripp looked up at me, he caught an unshed tear on his finger.

“He already has,” he whispered. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me in close and just holding me. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, Seb. And if he breaks any part of you, I’ll rip his throat out.”

I turned my face into his neck. He wasn’t sitting in the dark worrying because he didn’t trust me. He wasn’t scared that I would run into the arms of the next available guy who showed an interest. That alone was still amazing to me after what I had done to him. But the fact that he sitting in the dark worrying about someone hurting me, worrying that he would have to hide a body if something happened to me, that was something I’d never imagined. We both pretended I wasn’t ruining his suit with salt water, but I knew that he knew what the tears were for. In his silence, I heard how much he loved me. 

* * *

“SURPRISE!” a very familiar voice shouted from the doorway. I jumped up as Kurt led Jeff into the room, Suzanne in tow. Jeff met me for a completely manly hug, holding on to me just as tightly as I was hugging him. We let go after a little and grinned at each other.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, pulling him down on the couch next to me. Suzanne moved to sit next to Tripp in the love seat and they immediately started in on a conversation I was pretty sure they’d been having on and off for the past two years.

“Kurt flew me out. I know the wedding is literally weeks away, but I just couldn’t wait. I was looking up ticket prices when Kurt called to see if I wanted to be a surprise for your birthday,” he explained. I turned to Kurt.

“You planned this?” I asked.

“Well, yeah,” he said, “With Tripp’s help. He gave me Jeff’s number and made sure you suspected nothing.” I turned to my fiancé. He glanced up from his serious conversation with Suzanne to give me a warm smile.

 “So as I was about to say before I was given the best gift ever, can I make a request?” I asked when I was done staring adoringly at my fiancé. Jeff threw an arm around my shoulders and smiled widely at being call the ‘best gift ever’.

“You can make a _request_ ,” Kurt allowed.

“Can we not make fun of me on my own freaking birthday?” I asked. Suzanne snorted.

“No,” she said shortly. Kurt nodded at her.

“I like her. Let’s keep her,” he said to Tim, he turned to Jeff and repeated, “We’re keeping her.”

“No, we’re not,” Tim said, “We already have a kid.”

“We what?!” Kurt said, tumbling into Tim’s lap as he turned too quickly to look at Tim from his place on the arm of his chair.

“Damn it!” Tim said, “I was going to surprise you next week on your birthday.” Kurt was staring at him, open-mouthed.

“We’re having a baby?” he whispered. The entire room had fallen silent. A smile broke out across Tim’s face.

“We’re having a baby,” he confirmed. Kurt huffed out a quiet laugh before throwing his arms around Tim’s neck and hiding his face in his shoulder. Tim’s arms came up around his middle.

“When did you find out?” Kurt asked, his voice muffled by Tim’s shirt.

“A few days ago. Marie called while you were at the office. She’s four weeks along,” he said, rubbing Kurt’s back. Kurt pulled back a little to kiss him.

“I’m not sure whether to be angry with you for trying to keep this from me for another week, or happy because we’re going to have a baby,” he said.

“Go with the latter for now and when you’ve gotten over the shock of it, you can see how you feel about the former,” Tim advised. Kurt gave a watery laugh around tears of joy and kissed him again.

“Congratulations, you guys,” Tripp said sincerely. Suzanne nodded along and Jeff got up to hug them.

“Congrats!” he said. “Wow, so many good things are happening today. Sebastian’s getting old, I’m here, Kurt’s having a little Kurt.” Kurt wiped his eyes and hugged Jeff back.

“Well, actually it’s going to be a little Tim first. We flipped a coin. I get our second child,” Kurt admitted, but the smile didn’t leave his face.

“Well, thank the Lord for small favors,” I said, getting up to hug Kurt, too. “I don’t know if I could deal with a miniature of you running around criticizing my clothing.”

“Stop dressing so badly and I wouldn’t have to criticize,” Kurt said, letting me go. I ignored that one. I dressed just fine.

“Also, Jeffery, I’m not getting old. I’m still not the oldest person in this room,” I sniffed, looking pointedly at Tripp.

“Oh yeah, I always forget you’re freaking ancient,” Suzanne said, turning to Tripp. Tripp rolled his eyes.

“I’m 35, not 95,” he said simply, just as he had the year before and every other time Suzanne brought it up. He was smiling though. Like the joint birthday we threw for Jeff and Suzanne every year, this was tradition.

“So,” Jeff was saying to Kurt as I tuned back into their conversation, leaving Suzanne and Tripp to argue about the definition of ‘old’. “Have you thought about names?”

“If it’s a girl, I want her to be named Elizabeth for my mom,” Kurt said. “We’re at a bit of a stalemate for boys names, though. I want Matthew, Tim wants Chad.”

“Matthew is generic,” Tim said.

“Chad is douchey,” Kurt replied without missing a beat. They had this argument often I assumed.

“I didn’t even know you were trying to have kids,” I said. Kurt frowned a bit at me.

“Really? I’m sure I must have brought it up,” he said. I shook my head.

“Thanks for keeping me in the loop about all your important life events,” I said, “I thought we were friends or something. Guess not.” Kurt rolled his eyes and threw a piece of popcorn at me.

“I just flew your best friend out here all the way from Paris, but I guess that’s not enough for you. Whatever,” he retorted. I grabbed the popcorn and threw it back.

“Can we have cake now?” I asked instead of heading down the dangerous road of exchanging good-natured insults with Kurt. We would never get to cake if we continued on that route.

“Yeah, it’s Seb’s birthday,” Tripp piped up from the loveseat. “Stop stealing his thunder with your baby news.” I pointed to him.

“That’s my man,” I said proudly, nodding. Kurt smiled.

“Sure, Sebastard,” he said. I groaned.

“God, please don’t tell me that’s going to catch on,” I grumbled. I might have been imagining it, but Suzanne’s and Kurt’s laughs sounded exactly the same in that moment.

 

“You okay, Bastian?” Jeff asked quietly, coming into the kitchen. I jumped a bit, turning away from the window over the sink.

“Uh, no,” I admitted, “Not really.” Jeff sat down on a stool at the island and waited for me elaborate. In the other room, I could hear Kurt regaling the Suzanne and Tripp with stories from our high school days.

I came around the island to sit next to him. He propped his elbow on the counter top and rested his hand on his fist, just watching me quietly. Just as Kurt had a couple weeks ago, he didn’t press me to continue, didn’t expect me to talk if I didn’t want to. He knew if I wanted to say something I would eventually get around to it. I sighed, slumping down a bit and pillowing my head on my arms on the counter.

“Blaine is back in town,” I mumbled into my folded arms. Jeff slid down to mirror my position, looking at me from his own pillow of arms. “He’s following Kurt or something. He figured out where Tripp works. And he’s always hanging around Tim’s club. He keeps sending me letters and emails at the paper, too. It’s creeping me out. Tim and I keep telling Kurt to get a restraining order, but Tripp says they probably won’t grant it because we can’t prove Kurt’s being stalked and he hasn’t done anything rash. I don’t want to believe him, but he’s right.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Jeff asked quietly. Peels of laughter rose from the living room and I glanced over my shoulder. “Bastian?” I turned back to Jeff, resting my chin on my arms again.

“I don’t know. He won’t stop asking Kurt to dinner. Kurt thinks if he just goes, he can give Blaine whatever closure he needs. He’s breaking down. None of us want him to go.”

“I get that,” Jeff said quietly. “There was always something off about him. I only realized it after he’d left the Warblers, but there was this, like, weird energy about him. It’s hard to explain. And he was really manipulative, too. We worked on a group project together, me, Nick, him, and Ron and he somehow coerced the three of us into doing all of the work, then he took credit for the idea and acted like he’d done everything.” I nodded.

“Hasn’t changed,” I said. I let my forehead rest on my arms, turning my face down into the dark space caged in by my arms. “I don’t want him to go. At least not without Tim or me or someone.” I heard Jeff sigh.

“So go with him,” he said. I shook my head.

“I tried that. Kurt agreed to coffee and asked me to come along because he was wary of what Blaine wanted and the minute he saw me, Blaine made up some lame excuse and ran off. He wants Kurt alone.” Jeff sighed again.

“Kurt’s going to do what he wants,” he said. “He got into Dalton because it’s what he wanted, and he left Dalton because it’s what he wanted. We all begged him to stay, but he wouldn’t listen. Once he’s set his mind on something, he won’t change it.”

“You’re telling me,” I muttered. I lifted my head and turned to look at him again. “So you’re saying I can’t do anything about it?”

“I’m saying you’re going to do what you can, but if he wants to let Blaine take him to dinner and try to talk to him, he’s going to do it with or without your approval. You know that. So wouldn’t you rather be supportive and make sure you’re in his corner and on his speed dial when he goes?” It was my turn to sigh.

“Yeah,” I said. Jeff nodded.

“We should get back in there. I think Kurt’s coming up to the parking garage fiasco.” I smiled a bit.

“Dear God, not that story. He always tells it wrong,” I said.

“Yeah,” Jeff agreed, straightening and jumping down. “The Warblers clearly won that one. Even if you did throw a rock salt slushie and Kurt. Which I’m still mad at you for.” I rolled my eyes and stood, pushing him back toward the living room.

“You don’t even know what anger feels like, Jeff,” I said.

* * *

Tim showed up on our doorstep three days later. It was raining buckets outside. Tripp buzzed him in immediately and was ready and waiting at the door with towels and a pair of old sweats. After drying off and changing, we met him in the living room. Tripp and I sat quietly – he on the couch, me in a chair – watching Tim pace restlessly from one end of the room to the other. He ran his hands through his wet hair and kept looking obsessively at the clock on the mantle. No one said anything for a good ten minutes. Finally, Tripp spoke up.

“He went out with Blaine, didn’t he?” Tim stopped dead and turned to us. He deflated and came around the coffee table to drop onto the couch. He nodded and put his head in his hands.

“I’m supposed to be at the club all night,” he said, speaking to the carpet, “but I stopped home because we always try to at least get dinner together on the weeks I’m working nights. He’d left a note saying he and Blaine would be out at dinner and maybe drinks after. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m worried about him.” I tensed.

“Did he say where he’d be?” I asked.

“Do you think I’d be here if he did?” Tim snapped. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I guess you called him, too.”

“He didn’t pick up. He promised to text me every half hour, but it’s been an hour now and he hasn’t texted me. I know it sounds clingy and over dependent, but I need to know where he is.” Tripp frowned deeply and leaned back.

“Drinks after, huh?” he said quietly. Tim nodded again, swallowing hard. I crossed and uncrossed my legs restlessly. I felt like I was going to vibrate out of my skin. I wanted to run to where ever Kurt was and shake him vigorously for being so stupid. I couldn’t even imagine what Tim was going through.

“How long has he been gone?” I asked. Tim groaned.

“I don’t know. The note could have been there for five minutes or five hours by the time I got to the apartment. All I know is I called him an hour and a half ago and got his voicemail. He texted me then and promised to check in every half hour. He checked in a half hour later. But now it’s been an hour and nothing.” Tripp and I both looked at the time.

“If they were going to get drinks they’d be there by now,” I said, noting the hands inching toward 9:30. I chewed my lip as Tim ran his hands through his hair again.

“Maybe his phone just ran out of battery,” Tripp said practically, but there was an undercurrent of real concern beneath it. He didn’t believe that any more than Tim or I did.

“Or maybe Blaine got him hammered and back to his place,” Tim said darkly. “If he lays a finger on _my_ _husband_ we’re going to have a problem.” I looked at the clock again. I was barely restraining myself from getting up and following the path Tim had made in our carpet. Tim was allowed to be a mess right now. I needed to stay level-headed.

“Have you texted him?” I asked.

“Of course,” Tim said. “I wouldn’t be so worried if I hadn’t. If I hadn’t texted him, I could believe he just forgot to check in. He’s done that before when he gets caught up in something. But he always answers my texts. Always.”

“So what do we do?” I asked uncertainly. Tripp sighed.

“We can’t do much of anything,” he said. “Kurt didn’t tell us where he’d be and he’s not answering his phone. Maybe they went to a club or a sports bar and he can’t hear his phone.” Again, he said it for practicality’s sake, but in a room full of people who didn’t trust Blaine, the words meant nothing.

“Maybe,” Tim repeated hollowly. He sighed. “Did Kurt tell you he showed up at our apartment last week?”

“He what?” I asked sharply. Tim nodded.

“And I don’t mean he was in the lobby and the front desk called to ask if he was allowed up. He was on our fucking doorstep. He knocked on our fucking door. We live in a pretty secure building, but somehow he got up to the 18th floor and came to our door,” he said. I actually had to lean back in my chair. I’d never heard Tim so angry. He never swore, either. His tension was so palpable though, I felt the need to put distance between us in case he exploded.

“Jesus,” Tripp muttered. “Now _that_ might be grounds for a restraining order.”

“Fucking hell,” I said to myself. Tim just put his face back in his hands.

The minutes ticked by. My eyes were glued to the clock now and I’d turned the ringer all the way up on my phone. If someone did call, it would be jarring. The only sound in the room was the beat of the rain against the windows and the ticking of the clock on the mantle. Tripp reached out and put his hand heavily on my knee. I hadn’t realized I’d been bouncing it in agitation until he stopped me. I looked at him. He didn’t say anything, just squeezed my knee and withdrew. No one spoke.

Tim’s phone broke the heavy silence. He jumped for it before the first ring had ended.

“Kurt?” he demanded, burying his fingers in his hair. He kept the phone clamped to his ear as he listened to whatever Kurt was saying on the other end. I barely noticed that I was rising out of my chair until both Tripp and I were on our feet. Tim’s hand was gripping his own hair so tightly it must have been pulling painfully, but he didn’t seem to notice. He’d paled considerably.

“We’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said after a few minutes. As if he’d flipped a switch, we all jumped into action. Tripp grabbed out coats from the hall closet as I laced up my shoes and Tim yanked on his rain boots.

“Baby, hey, hey, listen to me,” he was saying with forced calm, “We’re coming right now. Me, Sebastian and Tripp, we’re on our way. Just stay there, we’re going to be there soon. I promise.”

Tripp ushered us out the door, locking up behind us as we all went for the elevator. Tim still had the phone clamped to his ear as he kept up his steady stream of reassuring words in a voice that was getting more and more scared with every passing sentence. Between the two of us, Tripp and I managed to get him into a spare coat before we got to the street. By some miracle, Tripp even managed to flag down a cab.

“We’re in a cab now. Just hang in there. I’m not going anywhere, we’re coming to get you,” Tim repeated after relaying the address to the cabby. Tripp and I exchanged a look.

The club Blaine had taken Kurt to was definitely not somewhere Kurt would go willingly. It was a gay bar almost as seedy as Scandals and not even half as safe. We’d both been there separately years ago, long before we met. There was a bouncer at the door, but other than that there was no security. Many of the regular patrons – bears, mostly, who had been in the closet longer than out of it – were nice enough and some were willing to step in on someone’s behalf if they looked like they were being harassed. But if it was a theme night, the regulars usually didn’t show. They stayed away from the money-making gimmicks the club tried to pull, not liking the patronage it usually attracted (the young, daring twenty-somethings who thought they were above rules and didn’t need protectors, people like Tripp and me back then). If Blaine got handsy, Kurt didn’t stand a chance.

It took longer than it should have to reach the club. The rain was heavy and the streets crowded with taxies because not even a hurricane could keep twenty-somethings in on a Friday night. Steam would be packed tonight, but Tim was solely focused on getting to his husband. We arrived finally and Tripp held back to pay for the cab while Tim and I pushed our way inside, barely even glancing at the line of guys and the angry bouncer. It was a theme night alright. I couldn’t tell what the theme was supposed to be, but there were Jell-O shots circling the room and about twenty bottles of tequila lined up on the bar. Tim was still on the phone with Kurt, he turned to me.

“Bathrooms,” he shouted over the noise of the club. I grabbed his arm and headed to the back of the club. Navigating the two of us across the dance floor was difficult so I pointed Tim in the direction of the bathrooms and let him go. I searched for one of the regulars, wondering if we’d be allowed another stroke of luck tonight.

Someone caught my arm as I absently smacked another guy’s hands off my ass. I turned, expecting to see Tripp, but Blaine was holding on to my arm for dear life. His eyes were bloodshot and he was swaying. He was far past one too many drinks. He looked up at me through his lashes, his other hand coming up and landing on my chest. I grimaced and pushed him off me.

“S’bast’an,” he slurred, “C’mon. Lemme jus’.” His hand trailed down my chest and before I could stop him, he grabbed my crotch roughly. I shoved him, harder this time, dislodging myself from his grasp.

“C’mon,” Blaine slurred, barely sparing a glance at the group he’d barreled into when I pushed him, “I know you wan’ me.” He came at me again, grabbed the nape of my neck and pulling my head down to whisper in my ear.

“I wan’ you sooooo bad,” he said lowly. And suddenly I was in Paris. Thirteen and scared and too drunk to say no. Fear crawled up my throat and my breathing became ragged. It felt like a thousand hands were on me, grabbing me everywhere I didn’t want to be touched. I pushed blindly at the body in front of me and felt the hands leave me again. I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to regain control of my breathing and forced myself to focus on my surroundings.

Blaine.

I’d shoved him hard enough to send him to the ground and in the commotion, I managed to get outside. The back door of the club opened on to a dingy alley. There were rivers of filth running through it in the rain, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I knew I was hyperventilating, but I couldn’t get myself calm. I closed my eyes, trying every technique my therapist had worked on with me over the years, but all I could hear was his voice, echoing in my head over and over. _I want you so bad._

I sat down on the ground hard, trying to steady my breathing and fighting passing out. My heart was still hammering. Distantly I heard someone calling my name. I kept my eyes trained on a bright spot of white paint on the wall in front of me until a face swam into focus in front of me. Tripp’s forehead was wrinkled in concern and his hand shook a bit as he reached for me tentatively, asking silently if he could touch me. I swallowed hard, still trying to slow my breathing, and nodded. His cool hand touch my cheek and I finally registered what he was saying.

“You’re okay, baby, you’re safe,” he murmured, his other hand carding through my hair. “I’ve got you. No one’s going to hurt you. I’m here.” Slowly, my heart began to calm and my breathing started to return to normal. I closed my eyes, focusing only on his voice.

“No one’s going to hurt you, Sebastian. You’re safe now. You’re safe,” he continued quietly. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.” I swallowed again and awareness began to return to the rest of my body.

I was sitting in a puddle and the water had soaked straight through my jeans. I was shivering as the rain came down on my head. It was cold even for a May night and Tripp’s hand still hadn’t warmed fully against my cold cheek. As I calmed, he came closer and gently wrapped his arms around me, guiding my face into the crook of his neck. I breathed in, letting the comfort of his scent wash over me. One of his hands continued to run through my hair while the other moved gently up and down my back. I pulled back after a bit.

“Kurt?” I asked quietly. He kissed my forehead and pulled me to my feet.

“Is asking about you,” he replied softly. “He’s mostly just shaken up. He saw you and Blaine on the dance floor when Tim got him out of the bathroom. They’re waiting in a car out front.” He guided me out of the alley with an arm around my waist, never breaking physical contact with me. He bundled me into the back of the town car and Tim instructed the driver to take them back to their apartment. Tripp held me the whole ride back uptown and I kept my face hidden in the crook of his neck, breathing him in slowly and feeling his own breathes ripple across the top of my head.

 

I came out of the bathroom drying my hair. My skin was pink and tender from the scalding water and my harsh scrubbing. I could still feel the ghost of his hands on me, but Tripp would erase that quickly enough. I stepped into Tim and Kurt’s living room. Tripp had been pacing, wearing a similar path to the one Tim had been making on our floor not an hour ago. He came to me immediately, his hair still damp from his own shower and dripping a bit on their rug. Neither Tim nor Kurt seemed to mind.

I fell into his arms gratefully when he reached me and let him guide me to a chair where he arranged me in the tight space next to him so I felt surrounded be him. I sighed quietly, relaxing into his arms and resting there for a moment before turning to Kurt. There was a bruise already darkening right under one eye and his lip was split. I tensed, knowing without asking that Blaine at done this. Tripp’s hands were there immediately, running through my hair and easing the muscles of my shoulders. I let him relax me before speaking.

“What happened?” I asked quietly. Kurt sighed.

“I kind of over reacted. I’m sorry I scared you guys,” he said quietly. The look Tim sent him told me they’d already been through this while I was in the shower.

“You didn’t over react,” he said shortly. Kurt shrugged.

“What happened?” I repeated. He sighed.

“Everything was fine in the restaurant,” he began quietly. “He kept his hands to himself. We just talked. I relaxed a little bit. He apologized for creeping me out by following me. I was still wary of him, but it seemed like he just wanted to talk. We split the bill and then he asked me if I wanted to get a drink. I turned him down because I didn’t want to be around him when he drank. I told him that. He promised he would only have one beer. I don’t know how he did it, I guess he pulled out all his old tricks, but he coaxed me into agreeing to go out with him.

“I didn’t know the place we were going. I thought it would just be a bar because he said he wanted to talk more. I wasn’t expecting a club. I turned the ringer up all the way on my phone, but I guess I still didn’t hear it,” he paused to look apologetically at Tim, “Anyway, we went to the bar and ordered our drinks. I had just a Coke, Blaine ordered a beer. We couldn’t talk without shouting so I didn’t continue our conversation.

“Everything still seemed okay. Blaine asked me to dance and left me when I politely declined. While he was dancing, I ducked off to the bathroom. When I came back, he was doing shots. He’d already done five of them and there were still five more lined up on the bar. When he finished I told him I was leaving. I pulled out my phone to call our car and he smacked it out of my hand. The screen is totally smashed. He told me I couldn’t leave and he tried to get me to dance again. I said no again and he went away.

“When he got back to the bar, the shots had gotten to him and he was smashed. He was all over me so I threatened to punch him again. He just laughed and before I could stop him he had his tongue in my mouth and,” he stopped. Tim had gotten up abruptly and headed for the decanters they had set on a small table in the corner of the room. He poured himself a healthy dose of scotch and downed half of it before returning to the couch. Kurt reached out and laced their fingers together. He powered on slowly, “Anyway, I told him to get off of me and I went to try to leave again. I got these for my trouble.” He pointed to his face.

“I guess it brought me back to the night at Santana’s and the night outside Scandals all at once. I panicked and ran for the bathroom, that’s when I managed to call Tim. I was shaken up, but I’d calmed down by the time you guys got there. Then I saw what happened on the dance floor,” he trailed off, looking at me expectantly.

“He got handsy,” was all I said. Tripp tightened his grip on me a bit. Kurt nodded in understanding. He gently took the scotch from Tim’s hand and set it on the coffee table. Tim’s fingers flexed then clenched on the empty air. He sighed and put an arm around Kurt.

“When shall a cut out time in my schedule to kill this bastard?” he asked after a while, looking over at Tripp. I felt the edge of Tripp’s smile against my head where he was resting.

“As soon as possible.”

* * *

Tripp was sleeping in on one of his rare weekends off when Kurt buzzed our intercom. I let him up and ushered him into the kitchen quietly, not wanting to wake Tripp. He passed me a bag of croissants and a coffee and sat down at the island. I put a croissant in the microwave for myself and turned back to him.

“I know you don’t want to talk about what happened at the club that night. And you definitely don’t want to talk about whatever event happened in the past that caused it,” he said quietly, “but I want you to talk to me. About anything. I know you’re broken, Sebastian, I’ve seen you at your most vulnerable. I’m not asking you to tell me all the reasons why right now, but I’m your friend. Tell me something.” I took my breakfast out of the microwave before the beep could go off. Tripp was a light sleeper.

“My parents froze my assets,” I began, sitting next to him. “I gained control of my trust fund at 21, just like I was supposed to. They weren’t thrilled with me at that point, but they let me have it anyway. Things were going great. They ignored me like they usually did, and now that I wasn’t dependent on them, I got to ignore them right back.” I sighed and backtracked.

“See, I came out when I was eleven. My family, my mom, dad, and sister, they weren’t too happy about it. They didn’t say anything and after that day, we never talked about it. They let me do as I pleased as long as they didn’t have to hear about it or think about it or see it. They just ignored the part about me being gay and went on as if nothing was different. We just never talked about it. Out of sight, out of mind.

“When Tripp and I got engaged a year ago, I reached out to them. They’re still my parents. We still talked briefly on my birthday and spent supremely awkward Thanksgivings and Christmases together. The years I spent holidays with Tripp, they never brought up. But when we got engaged, I wanted them to be happy for me. I wanted them to meet Tripp and see how great he is and see how happy it made me. They weren’t happy at all. I had brought Tripp out to meet them a couple weeks after he proposed and we’d planned on staying for a few days. We ended up getting on a plane back to New York only hours after we’d gotten off one, that’s how unhappy they were about it.

“The next day, I tried to buy a coffee. Just a coffee. My card got declined. I had just enough cash not to embarrass myself by walking away from the counter empty-handed, but my card had never been declined. I went straight to my bank and they told me my accounts had been cleared out. Not just my trust fund, but the money I’d made myself was gone, too. They’d wiped me out.

“I switched banks after that, opening accounts on a loan from Tripp under my own name so they couldn’t touch them. I just still can’t get over how angry you would have to be to do that,” I said. “They outright stole from me. All because I tried to make them see that I was happy. If I hadn’t told them about Tripp, if I hadn’t brought him to meet them, I probably would still have my money. If they can pretend I’m straight, they’re satisfied. But once I told them without a doubt that I would be spending the rest of my life with a man, they couldn’t turn a blind eye anymore.” I finished shredding my croissant and finally picked up a bit and took a bite. It was a damn good croissant. Kurt let me eat for a bit, sipping his own coffee.

“What about Tripp’s family?” he asked after a bit.

“His parents died in a car crash when he was 23. His sisters are supportive, though. And they absolutely adore me. His extended family is mostly ambivalent. Rich families like ours don’t always acknowledge homosexuality. His, at least, doesn’t outright disapprove of us. They’re pretty much neutral. As long as Tripp upholds the Weston name, they’re fine with it. They’re awkward about it, but he’s free to do what he wants.” Kurt nodded.

“How old are his sisters?”

“He has one older sister, she’s 37. Her name is Erin, she’s the one primarily helping us plan the wedding. She’s an event planner. Then he’s got two younger sisters. Marilyn is twelve and Josephine is fourteen.”

“So Tripp was the only one to be saddled with such a nightmare of a name. Marilyn and Josephine can be shortened to manageable names. Tripp is just a sad name,” Kurt said. I laughed quietly.

“Family name,” I explained. “His full name is Tripp Arthur Weston the fourth.”

“Oh,” Kurt said sympathetically, “That’s unfortunate.” I chuckled. After a moment, Kurt spoke again. “So Marilyn and Josephine were only babies when their parents died. What happened to them?”

“Erin got custody. She was only 25 but she put a lot of her life on hold to raise them. She did a damn good job, too. They’re angels. Tripp tried to help out, but she forced him to finish school and get his master’s degree. They live in Scarsdale now. Tripp visits whenever he can and when Erin and her husband need a break or just need a night on their own, they stay here.”

“Does Erin have any kids?” Kurt asked.

“Two. Four and seven. Ashley and Micha, respectively. Also angels.” Kurt smiled.

“It’s good that he has a supportive family like that. I don’t know how I would have made it without my dad, Carol, and Finn,” he murmured. He looked away for a moment, his eyes misting a bit.

“I heard about Finn,” I said quietly. I reached out and squeezed his hand where it rested on the table. “And I know it happened in the midst of some health problems your dad was having. Jeff and Nick kept most of the Warblers updated on you and Blaine. I’m really sorry. I thought about telling you back then, but I also thought maybe you wouldn’t want to see me and I would only make you more upset. I know I was a jerk, but Finn seemed like a nice guy.” Kurt smiled at me sadly.

“He really was,” he whispered.

“He actually caught me after the regionals performance we dedicated to Karofsky. He probably never told anyone, but he found me and told me it was a good thing we did. He told me I was a nicer guy than a lot of people gave me credit for and told me that it didn’t matter how damaged I was, if I let people in, they would accept me. I never told anyone about that, but that was the first time I realized I was more transparent than I thought I was and maybe that was why Jeff insisted on being my friend even though I made fun of his hair all the time. I guess you could say he’s the reason I started letting Jeff become my friend,” I said softly. Kurt smiled more and I could see tears pooling in his eyes.

“You’re right, he never told me that,” he said. “But that’s the kind of guy he was.”

“I’m really sorry he died,” I repeated. Kurt nodded and flipped his hand over to squeeze mine that still rested on top of his. I withdrew my hand and turned back to my breakfast. “What about Tim, what’s his family like?”

“Really great,” Kurt said with a smile. “His dad walked out right before his younger brother was born, he doesn’t remember him much. His mom, though, is the best. She’s a rock star. She’s a surgeon and she still managed to raise Tim and his brother on her own. When Tim came out she cried from relief. She had known for a while and she was scared he wasn’t coming out because he was worried she wouldn’t love him.” I smiled.

“That’s good,” I said, “That she’s so supportive.” Kurt nodded. He reached over and stole a bit of my shredded pastry. We were quiet for a while and I heard Tripp moving in the bedroom. He appeared a moment later, his dark hair sticking up in every direction and clad only in his sleep pants. He noticed Kurt sitting and I saw his hands twitch to cover the scars on his chest and stomach. It had been a long time since he’d been self-conscious of them, but Kurt had never seen them and I realized I hadn’t mentioned Tripp had been in the car that night.

He stopped himself though, smiling a little shyly and nodding to Kurt before going over to make his own coffee. Kurt’s eyes flickered away, noting the twitch of his hands like I had. He spoke quietly, “I brought croissants.” Tripp opened the bag sitting on the counter and smiled.

“From Haven?” he asked, peeking in. Kurt nodded.

“They were fresh when I picked them up,” he said.

“Excellent,” Tripp said, pulling one out and tearing right in. I smiled and shook my head a bit. Kurt finished off his coffee and hopped down from the stool he was perched on.

“I’ve got to get to the office, I have a meeting with some new talent. Can’t be rescheduled,” he said, tossing his cup in the trash. Tripp looked pointedly at me. I cocked my head to the side and got an eye roll in return.

“Kurt, I know you’ve probably already made time in your schedule because you know Sebastian well enough that he’ll want you to be there but never admit it, but we’d like to formally invite you and Tim to our wedding next week,” Tripp said, sending me a fondly exasperated look.

“June 5th, right?” Kurt said, “I’ve cleared both Tim and my schedules already. And thankfully, I’ve already picked out our tuxes. Thanks for asking, though.” Tripp laughed a bit.

“Chicken, salmon, or vegan?” he called as Kurt made for the door.

“Salmon for both of us!” he replied and the door shut a moment later. 

* * *

“Heard you had an incident,” Jeff said quietly. He was leaning against the doorframe, watching me fix my hair. I looked at him in the mirror. My hands dropped and he came into the room, closing the door. Tripp had already left for a pseudo-bachelor party with his sisters. Kurt and my other friends would be arriving soon. I sat heavily on the bed and looked down at the carpet, my hands dangled between my knees. I felt the bed dip next to me as Jeff sat down beside me.

“It was a small panic attack,” I admitted. “Sherry and I talked about it in our session. Just another flashback. No nightmares, though.” Jeff leaned into me and I was grateful for the line of warmth along my side.

“You want to tell me what happened?” he murmured. I leaned back into him.

“Kurt agreed to go out with Blaine. They went for dinner and then Blaine convinced him to go get drinks. Do you remember that awful club I told you about, that one that’s like Scandals only worse?” I turned to him. He nodded slowly.

“Blaine took him there. He got handsy like he does when he’s drunk and he roughed Kurt up a little. Kurt called Tim in a panic so we all rushed down there, Tim, me and Tripp. Tim went to get Kurt, I got caught up on the dance floor. Blaine got to me and he got really handsy and up in my face and I was triggered a little bit, I guess. I started hyperventilating. Tripp found me outside and helped calm me down. That was it, I promise,” I told him quietly. Jeff’s hand came up around my shoulders and he gave me a half hug.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You sure you want to do this now?” he asked. His brow furrowed tightly inward and I gave him a ghost of my usual smirk.

“It’s my bachelor party, Jeffery. I’m not missing this. In fact, it’s exactly what I need,” I told him seriously. He smiled and stood, pulling me up with him.

“Fair enough,” he said simply.

In typical bachelor party fashion. Jeff took us barhopping. I was the only one who fully understood what each stop meant, but I think Kurt got the picture by the time we were sucking down beers in the third club. Jeff had, somehow, remembered all the clubs I’d told him about over the years and planned our stops to coincide with the order in which I’d frequented the clubs up until I finally met Tripp. It was quite a few so he did cut out several, but the major landmarks were there. After five clubs, we reached the final destination.

Milky Way was the club where I’d first met Tripp. I’d noticed him the first time I went in. He had the same predatory look that I did and we struck up a conversation at the bar. Somehow, it had degenerated into a challenge over which of us could get a certain boy into his bed that night. He won the first and second time, but I kept coming back to challenge him again. One night, after we’d already had a few, he proposed a different challenge. He pointed out that we had reached a tie in our little game and said the tie breaker had to be harder. If I could get through the night without being seduced by him, I would be the winner and he would relinquish his hunting ground to me. If I lost, I had to find a new club.

I lost.

I’d awoken the next morning, shocked to find I was still in his bed. I had been so exhausted after the third (fourth?) round, I’d simply passed out. Tripp had already left for work since he worked some weekends. I found my way to the kitchen and found a note he’d left me. (I had the note framed later, because I hadn’t known it then, but that was the day he crawled under my skin and the day he realized he was falling for me.) He proposed, in that note, another game similar to the one we’d just played. He claimed he could get me into his bed every week. If he won, he got to seduce me again the next week. If he lost, he’d let me have his hunting grounds, just like our first deal. I didn’t think he could do it, but he did, time and again.

After almost two months of falling into his bed every week, I realized we were basically dating. I realized I looked forward to his dropping into my office to leave me notes that were positively filthy. I realized I would go to clubs during the week and hope that he would be in the same place, ready to pick up our game where he’d left off. I even looked forward to the quiet, unexpected moments when he would show up in the same coffee shop and we would talk. Needless to say, I freaked out.

That Friday, I got to our usual club early and set my sights on an easy target. I wanted to make a point to him, that I wasn’t just his to play with, that I could still play my own games. He found me in the bathroom with another guy’s head between my legs. Even though he smirked and offered to let me finish before getting back to our wager, I could see the hurt look hiding in his eyes. I felt so guilty that I had pushed the guy off and gone home alone. Jeff still claims he almost feinted when I called him the next day to tell him about it. He told me to get my head on straight and get him back because I loved him and I was being a complete idiot.

I showed up to the club every night the next week, staying until last call in the hopes of catching him. I barely slept that week. I was ready to call it quits after only one week, but Jeff and Suzanne ordered me to keep at it. One Saturday, bright and early at 3:30 in the morning, I showed up at his apartment building and demanded to be let up. He agreed. To this day, he maintains that he only agreed to let me up because he was tired and hoped if I just told him what I came to say, I would leave again. We both know without saying, though, that he let me up to give me a second chance.

We were together for six months before I broke up with him the first time. We were apart for three months before he seduced me again. This time, we lasted only four months before I ran again. I stayed away for only a month before I showed up, begging for another chance, making promises I had every intention of keeping. We got through ten months, but when I left that time, I lasted a grand total of three days without him. That was the only time he turned me away. We kept coming so close, he told me, so close to something wonderful. He couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t keep doing it. But three weeks later, we found our way back to each other and I finally stopped running.

I hadn’t been back to Milky Way since then, but it hadn’t changed much. For a gay bar where quite a bit of debauchery took place by the hour, it looked almost classy. The ceiling was completely black and most of the furniture was a deep gray. Instead of strobe lights or the colored lights of trendy clubs, tiny white bulbs were scattered everywhere, in the floor, all over the bar and covering the walls. The bulbs in the ceiling were arranged to imitate the way the Milky Way looked from the ground, but if you looked closely enough, you might notice the phallic undertones included in the design. It was an expensive place, but worth every penny.

“Last stop!” Jeff announced when we’d turned in our coats and entered the club, “Go nuts!” He grabbed my arm, pulling me and Kurt on to the dance floor with him. We danced together for one song before I felt familiar hands clamp down on my hips. I turned, a smile already on my face.

“This is _my_ bachelor party,” I told Tripp, “Get lost.” He grinned back and kissed me.

“Nah,” he said when he pulled away smirking. I couldn’t help grinning and going in for another kiss.

“You’re breaking the rules,” I said when we came up for air again, “We’re not supposed to crash each other’s parties.”

“Fuck the rules,” Tripp said, chasing my mouth as I spoke. I rolled my eyes, but met him for another kiss eagerly. Someone tapped me on the arm and I turned to see Kurt smirking at us from my elbow.

“I’m going to get a drink. We’ve got a table up in the balcony,” he shouted over the music. I nodded and waved him off, turning back to Tripp and biting his lower lip sharply. Tripp groaned and pulled me in closer. We danced for a while longer before agreeing we needed water and a break if we were going to go all night. Tripp went to grab us drinks and I scanned the balcony for Jeff and the others. I spotted them and froze.

Somehow they were keeping from making a scene, but just barely. Jeff was struggling to hold Kurt back as he towered menacingly over Blaine. My own friends, who’d accepted Kurt easily as one of their own, were caught between helping Jeff hold Kurt off and helping Kurt menace Blaine. They probably didn’t know exactly who Blaine was or what he meant to Kurt and me, but their loyalty to me had them on Kurt’s side. I was too far away to hear what they were saying, but it was clear from the look on Kurt and Blaine’s faces that Kurt was threatening him. I barely registered moving off to the side to watch the scene play out without getting in people’s way. Blaine was speaking now and Kurt almost broke free of Jeff’s grasp at something he said. Tripp grasped my elbow as he materialized next to me and followed my gaze.

Unprepared, I was too slow to grab him as he marched over to where Blaine and the others were. Without preamble, he grabbed Blaine by the lapels of his horrible, horrible sweater vest and pushed him hard against the balcony railing. The table they’d found was in a dark corner so nobody noticed, but I would bet they’d notice if Tripp tossed Blaine over the side. I reached them in time to hear Tripp saying, “If you so much as _think_ about touching my friend or, God forbid, my _husband_ ever again, there will not be a place on this planet that you could hide from me. They don’t want you in their lives. Stay away from them.” I warmed. I hadn’t thought about it before now, but hearing Tripp call me his husband woke a feeling in me so strong, ‘love’ didn’t seem to come close to touching it. I came over and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Leave it, baby,” I said just loudly enough for him to hear me, “Let him go.” Tripp released him slowly, wiping his hands down on his jacket as if he’d touched something vile.

“Get lost, Blaine,” Jeff said darkly. We all watched Blaine compose himself as best he could and leave. Jeff turned to Kurt then, saying gently, “And you better get some fresh air.” Kurt nodded mutely, still fuming. Without a word he made for the stairs and I went with him just as silently.

“You think that’s finally over?” I asked, coming up beside him where he was sitting on the steps of a dark bakery next door. He looked up and scooted over so I could join him.

“I wish it hadn’t all started again,” he replied, looking back up at the clear night sky. There weren’t any stars visible, there were hardly ever stars visible in Manhattan, but tonight, the glow of the city lights was enough. We sat there together, staring up and the blank sky, two people whose lives had been woven together because of the same destructive person over ten years ago. Two people who never had any idea how similar their scars were. Two people who could have been friends from the start, who left each other with deep cuts and burns instead of finding a way to heal each other.

“Do you think we could have become friends or something earlier?” Kurt asked the night sky quietly. I almost missed it over the sound of the traffic and the deep thumping of the bass coming from the club. I didn’t reply. I had no answer.

Eventually, we stood, dusted off our pants, and made tracks back to the club. I drank one shot for every year Tripp and I were together and two for every time I broke up with him. I let Jeff and Tripp half carry me up to our apartment and let Tripp put me in pajamas and force a few glasses of water down my throat. I dozed off in his arms, barely remaining coherent long enough to whisper a quiet “thank you” and passing out before I could hear him ask “for what?” He knew the answer anyway. 

* * *

“Dance with me,” Kurt demanded, appearing at my elbow as I took another sip of champagne. I rolled my eyes.

“You’re very demanding for a last minute guest,” I told him. He just raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed. I sighed heavily, pretending to be reluctant. He rolled his eyes.

“You’re very funny,” he deadpanned, dragging me out to the dance floor. I pulled him in with a hand at his waist. Over his shoulder, I could see Tim and Tripp watching us, laughing about something.

“Have you noticed how we seem to de-age each other about 10 years when we’re around each other?” I asked as we danced.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Kurt said breezily, “Meerkat.” I looked down at him, mock annoyed, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth had me laughing. He joined in after a moment.

“What’s that called again?” I asked, “Cognitive regression?”

“How should I know? I have an MBA,” he asked, still giggling a little bit. I shook my head, spinning him and bringing him back to my arms to dip him. He clutched my shoulder in surprised and frowned as I brought him back up.

“Whoa, turn that frown upside-down, Gay Face. I might start thinking you don’t trust me or something,” I teased.

“Or something,” he muttered. I dipped him again in retaliation, going lower than the last time.

“Sebastian!” he cried, clutching my bicep. I laughed, bringing us back to standing. He scowled. “You’re freaking hilarious, Smythe.”

“Weston,” I corrected him. He gave me a genuine smile.

“Sorry,” he muttered, still sounding sarcastic despite the warm light in his eyes, “Weston. You’re freaking hilarious, Weston.” I grinned helplessly at hearing Tripp’s name in reference to me. He shook his head.

“You’re such a sap,” he said. I pinched the small of his back through his suit and earned a smack on the side of my head. Tim and Tripp were laughing over Kurt’s shoulder again, and I had no doubt this time that they were laughing at us. Kurt craned his neck to follow my gaze and raised the middle finger of the hand I was holding. They both only laughed harder. He shook his head and looked back at me.

Another song came on and we continued dancing. Around me, mingled laughter from my friends and Tripp’s family made me unable to stop smiling. I knew Kurt could feel the way I would sometimes fiddle with the ring on my left hand, but he didn’t say anything. I glanced up at the ceiling of the white tent, then out to the growing dark. It was getting late. Away from the city, stars winked quietly in the twilit sky and I was reminded of the unanswered question Kurt had finally asked a few nights ago. I looked back at him. He was watching me curiously.

“You want my opinion?” I asked.

“Your ‘editorial’, if you will?” Kurt teased, laughing at his own joke. I pinched him.

“I’m trying to be serious here,” I said sternly. He calmed down but couldn’t suppress the smile.

“Okay, okay. Your _editorial_ on what?” he asked.

“Stop incorrectly using that word just to piss me off,” I said then powered on before he could reply, “My therapist says we might have been good friends in high school and it might even have been really good for us to be friends because we could have helped each other through some stuff, but I think we needed these ten years. We needed to grow up, both of us. We had to mature and learn to let people in and let people help us. I mean, face it, you would not have told me half the stuff you have now when we were in high school. And I definitely would not have told you half the stuff I’ve told you. I think we were meant to be friends, just not right away.” Kurt snorted softly.

“Who are you and what have you done with Sebastian Smythe?” he asked, smiling up at me warmly. I pinched him again.

“He’s been replaced by Sebastian Weston, remember?” I said, “We literally just went over this.”

“Well, Sebastian Weston is weirdly sentimental and I’m not sure how to feel about it,” Kurt said. I pinched him a third time then spun him.

“Don’t get used to it, princess,” I said smugly as he rubbed at the place where I’d pinched him four times now.

“Believe me, I never would be able to,” he replied. Tripp came up behind him as the song ended.

“Okay, give me my husband back,” he said gently swatting Kurt’s hands off me. “You had your dance. He’s mine.” Kurt held up his hands.

“Have at him, I don’t want him,” he said. “No need to get out the claws.” I stuck my tongue out at Kurt.

“Like you wouldn’t have gotten all over this in high school,” I said, motioning to my figure. Kurt sent me a supremely unimpressed look and didn’t even bother to reply to that as he walked back over to where Tim was standing. Tripp chuckled quietly before pulling me back in dance with him. I smiled at him and leaned in to kiss him.

“You’re mine,” he repeated quietly against my lips and I smiled.

“I know. You put a ring on it. You’re stuck with me, now.” Tripp bit my lip and pinched me in the same place I’d pinched Kurt while we danced.

“Guess you used your quota of sentimentality for the year on Kurt,” he muttered. I shrugged and smiled. “So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh? You get all sappy with your best friends and all I’m left with is the sarcasm. Why did I marry you?” I kissed him again.

“I’m really good in bed,” I said.

“I think it’s also because I love you, or something,” Tripp said.

“Yeah,” I agreed, “Or something.”


End file.
